


what you tell me to

by Lleu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Facials, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Sub Jackson Whittemore, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 17:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lleu/pseuds/Lleu
Summary: gotta hold my head upgotta move for your touchgotta keep my lips shutI’ll do what you tell me to’cause in darkness I follow you“you like that, don’t you? they say you’re ‘driven’, but all you really want is to give up control, isn’t it?”“yes.”





	what you tell me to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CypressSunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CypressSunn/gifts).



> title and epigraph from Years & Years’s “Worship”. this fic is honestly quite self-indulgent of me, but I think (hope) you’ll have as much fun reading it as I did writing it! never thought I’d be writing _Teen Wolf_ fic again in the year 2019.

his face is pressed against the cold metal of his locker, a hand on the back of his neck, strong, _so strong_ , and he can’t fight it, doesn’t _want_ to fight it, and he’s fucking _half-hard_ in spite of himself and _Derek Hale_ is breathing hot and heavy on the back of his neck.

“ _Jackson_.” it’s less a word — less his name — than it is a rumble. feral. _hungry_. “tell me what I want to know.”

he closes his eyes, sees red behind them, watching him, opens them again and his back is pressed against his locker, now; he’s naked except a towel, slipping from around his waist, still half-hard, and Derek is looming towards him.

“ _I don’t know where Scott is!_ ” he says quickly, his voice shaking — half with fear, half with something he can never bring himself to name. Derek takes a step closer and Jackson makes a sound that can only be described — _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_ — as a _whimper_. his cock is rock hard now.

“I’m not here for Scott,” Derek says, staring at him. “I’m here for _you_.” his eyes flash — just for a moment — blue.

“I’m —” he starts to say, but Derek cuts him off.

“you’re scared,” he says, calm. a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. a smirk, really. “good. you should be.”

“I know —” Jackson starts to say, then has to collect himself and start over. “I know…what you are.”

“good,” Derek says. “then you know I’m dangerous.”

_yes_ , Jackson doesn’t say.

“say it,” Derek says, and, automatically, Jackson obeys.

“ _yes_.”

“good.” Derek nods his approval, and something in Jackson is, perversely, pleased by it. more than pleased. Derek smiles, showing more of his teeth than necessary. “you’re good at doing what you’re told, aren’t you? Jackson Whittemore, the perfect son, the perfect captain, the perfect lacrosse player.” Derek reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jackson’s cheek, then down across his chest. “the perfect body. all the boys want to be you, all the girls want to fuck you. some of the boys want to fuck you, too, don’t they?” Jackson shivers and manages to nod.

“say it,” Derek says again.

“yes.”

“good boy.” Jackson’s cock jerks, obvious under the towel, now barely hanging from his hips. Derek looks down and smiles. “you like that, don’t you? they say you’re ‘driven’, but all you really want is to give up control, isn’t it?”

“ _yes_ ,” Jackson breathes.

Derek nods. “good boy. you want to be good, don’t you?”

Jackson swallows and nods, jerkily. “yes.”

“good,” Derek says. “and you want me to tell you how to be good, don’t you? tell you exactly what you need to do?”

“ _yes_.” he’s pleading now, and part of him hates it but most of him is more turned on than he’s ever been in his life. “ _please_.”

“good boy,” Derek says, smiling toothily again. “already begging for it.” he reaches his hand up to cup Jackson’s cheek and Jackson, half-unwillingly, leans into the touch. Derek’s smile gets wider, wilder, and he looks Jackson up and down just as the towel he’s wearing finally slips off onto the floor. he half-moves to cover himself, for all the good it would do, but Derek says, “stop,” so he does. “good boy.” there’s that same momentary flash of blue in Derek’s eyes, and then his gaze slides down Jackson’s body again, lingering over his cock. “eager, aren’t you. ready to please.”

“y-yes,” Jackson manages. he’s shaking slightly — vibrating, a mix of fear and excitement.

“well,” Derek says, looking him straight in the eyes. he smiles again, and this time the wildness — almost — disappears from it, and just for a moment Jackson wonders, _is this what he looks like when he’s happy? really happy, not just smug?_ it’s blinding — then it’s gone, and Derek says, “down on your knees.”

before he can second-guess himself Jackson has obeyed, and he stares up at Derek from waist level. Derek nods approval but doesn’t say the magic words; Jackson lets out, in spite of himself, a small whine, and Derek smirks again. “‘good boy’ — is that what you want to hear?”

wordless — speechless — Jackson nods.

“say it.”

“ _yes. please._ ”

“good boy,” Derek says, and Jackson’s cock jumps; he feels himself flush, moves one hand towards it — whether to cover himself or to stroke it he’s not quite sure. Derek once again cuts him off: “no. don’t touch yourself — not yet. look at what’s in front of you first.”

he looks, then: Derek’s jeans look like they’ve been perfectly tailored to fit him — _how much money did the Hales have, before…?_ — and right now what that means is that Derek’s bulge is…visible. extremely visible. and _big_. Jackson’s mouth is suddenly dry, but to his dismay his hard-on shows no signs of going away. neither does Derek’s. he sees it throb, once, through the fabric.

“you want to be good for me, don’t you, Jackson.” it’s not a question, and they both already know the answer, but Jackson licks his lips, nods, and gives it anyway:

“yes.”

“then take it out.” he doesn’t have to ask take what out. he reaches up — his hands, some part of him notices, are trembling — and fumbles with Derek’s belt. when he finally gets it open he pauses, and Derek says, “what are you waiting for?”

the answer is _nothing_ , so, with less difficulty than the belt, he undoes the button at Derek’s fly. he can see now that Derek’s not wearing any underwear, a fact which makes his cock twitch again. when he tugs down the zipper Derek’s pants slide down his hips just enough to let his cock bounce up and narrowly miss hitting Jackson’s chin. he hadn’t realized how close he was.

he stares at Derek’s cock in front of him. it’s not — obviously — the first time he’s ever seen one. even if he’d never seen any porn, which — obviously — he has, he’s spent enough time in locker rooms. _and there was that one_ —

“like what you see?” Derek interrupts _that_ train of thought, which Jackson would have stomped down into silence quickly anyway.

“yeah,” Jackson says, a little distracted. then, pulling his attention back to where he is, more confidently: “ _yeah_.” it’s true, too: not that he’s an expert, by any means, but Derek’s cock is…nice. thick, long but not too long, uncut ( _maybe that’s a werewolf thing?_ ), curving just a little to the right.

“you can touch it,” Derek says, and it’s not phrased as an order but Jackson obeys anyway, reaching, hesitantly, to wrap a hand around _Derek Hale’s cock_. _holy shit_. “good boy.”

“it’s so thick,” he says, awe creeping into his voice; he glances up at Derek and sees the smug smile has returned. Jackson looks back at the dick in his hand and gives it a few experimental long, slow strokes, sliding the foreskin down to reveal the head, then back up. it throbs in hs hand. _did it just get even thicker?_ a drop of precum gathers at the tip.

he looks up at Derek again, unsure; Derek nods, his eyes glinting — _is that blue again?_ — and says, “go on. you know what to do.”

and he does. heart pounding, Jackson leans forward and, tentatively, licks the tip of Derek’s dick. then, heartened, he slides the foreskin down slightly and takes the whole head in his mouth, running his tongue around it. there’s a hint of salt, whether precum or sweat he’s not sure.

“ah,” Derek sighs. “good boy.” his hips move slightly, pushing his cock further — but not too far — into Jackson’s mouth. surprised, Jackson starts to pull back, but Derek’s hand comes to rest on the back of his head — not applying pressure, but just the weight of it is enough to stop him. “don’t worry, I won’t give you any more than you can handle.” Jackson hums to signal he understands, then runs his tongue around the head of Derek’s dick again. “ _that’s_ a good boy. knew you’d have the mouth for this the minute I first saw you.” Jackson hums again, then, boldly, takes more of Derek into his mouth. “ah, _fuck_ ,” Derek half-sighs, “that’s good. good boy.”

for a few minutes, then, Derek lets him work, his hand on the back of Jackson’s head directing but never forcing. finally, encouraged by Derek’s steady stream of _good boy_ and _fuck_ and, once, _such a good little cocksucker_ and one particularly drawn out _ahhhh fuck_ , he decides to try to take all of Derek’s cock. it hits the back of his throat and he turns his head slightly, trying to find the right angle, and then —

“oh, _fuck_ ,” Derek says, his hips thrusting forward in spite of himself as his cock slides, suddenly, all the way down Jackson’s throat; Derek’s hand holds him — lightly — down, and Jackson lets his throat work for a second as Derek’s body shudders slightly. “ _good fucking boy_.” his own cock throbs in time with Derek’s, but then the urge to gag gets to be almost too strong; he pulls away quickly — Derek lets him go — and lets Derek’s cock slip out of his mouth. panting, but smiling, he looks up at Derek, who’s looking down at him in what seems to be genuine surprise. “been practicing, Jackson?”

Jackson shakes his head (maybe a little too fast?) and smiles again, still trying to catch his breath; Derek grins that wild grin and, his hand on the top of Jackson’s head, guides him down towards his balls.

“suck on those,” he says, and Jackson does as he’s told, taking first one and then the other of Derek’s balls in his mouth; they taste like salt, too — sweat. “that’s a good boy,” Derek says, taking his cock in his own hand and stroking it. “and good boys deserve rewards, don’t they?”

his mouth still full of balls, all Jackson can do is hum agreement.

“yes, they do,” Derek says. “you’ve been so good for me, Jackson. you want a reward, don’t you?” he hums again, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “good. then suck my cock again — and jerk yourself off, too.”

he’s only too happy to do as he’s told, wrapping his left hand around Derek’s cock and his right hand tight around his own. Derek’s hips push slightly forward, fucking into his mouth, foreskin sliding under Jackson’s hand. “good boy,” Derek says, breathing heavily. “you feel — so good.”

Jackson smiles and continues his work, his hand dropping away from Derek’s cock.

“I’m getting close,” Derek says, finally. “are you?”

“mm — hm,” Jackson manages, between Derek’s thrusts into his mouth. he can feel himself ascending, almost at the point where it’s easier to keep going than it is to stop. _just a little more_ —

“good boy. fuck.” it’s more grunt than word. “so close. _fuck_.” Derek pushes him back, his cock sliding out of Jackson’s mouth, and wraps his own hand around it. “look at me and open your mouth,” he says, and Jackson does as he’s told, and then Derek’s hips buck forward and, with a satisfied groan, he’s cumming, one spurt, two, three, four, splattering across Jackson’s face, hair, forehead, and into his mouth. his cum is salty, with just a hint of sweetness, and the taste of it, the feeling of it is enough that even if Derek hadn’t looked directly into his eyes and said, “now cum for me,” he would have anyway.

his orgasm hits him like a freight train, his whole body jerking with the force of it, and he collapses — just barely catching himself with his left hand — back onto the floor, some of his cum landing on his chest and stomach. he shudders and his cock throbs again, one last shot of cum landing at his belly button, pooling there. he lies still, then, eyes closed, just breathing, or trying to. “ _fuck_ ,” he whispers.

“Jackson,” Derek says, his voice low, half-growl, and Jackson opens his eyes to look at him, standing over him, cock still mostly hard, a thin strand of cum dripping from it. Derek’s eyes shine suddenly bright blue, his face twisting as it changes shape, his jaw shifting, his stubble growing wilder, a beard now. he opens his mouth, then, wide, hungry, and the last thing Jackson sees is fangs, sharp, hungry, _the bite_ —

*

— he wakes with a start from the most vivid dream he’s ever had in his life, pulse racing, jerks abruptly upright in bed. he’s drenched in sweat, and he can feel something wet and sticky sliding down his stomach. _cum_. whispers to himself: “ _what the fuck_.”

he’s still hard (but softening), reaches down half-unconsciously to touch his dick. there’s a drop of cum still at the tip. he catches it on his thumb, brings it up to his mouth. bitter. _not like_ —

slowly, he lets himself fall back onto the bed. his sheets are soaked, mostly in sweat. he hopes. his breathing is getting less shallow, his pulse returning to something closer to normal. his hand finds its way to the back of his neck, his fingers brushing against the scars Derek left. Derek’s _claws_.

_normal_. as if that applies to anything in this situation. _himself least of all_.

“ _fuck_.”


End file.
